


Hungry Youth

by welpplew



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: I had a lot of atsumu feelings one day and then I read an atsuhina fic and that was the end for me, I still love kagehina but atsuhina hits different, M/M, Slow Burn, but im so proud of it, enjoy, i fr wasnt expecting this fic to be this long, idk was thinking about youth and life and this happened, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:48:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23242117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welpplew/pseuds/welpplew
Summary: And it’s obvious to anyone that puts up with his attitude long enough to play with him: to spike one of Miya Atsumu’s sets is to know how it is to be loved by him.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Miya Atsumu
Comments: 28
Kudos: 480





	Hungry Youth

**Author's Note:**

> if you feel like your youth is slipping away even though you arent even 20 yet raise your hands,,,if you feel like you're running out of time to *ambiguous hand motions* regardless of age raise your hands,,,anyway I hope you enjoy

Atsumu exhales a breath and the hiss of air seems to ring out like a cry in the silent auditorium—until the ball leaves the very tip of his fingers, until his six steps, until the sickening slap of skin to leather, until the delicious smack of leather to wood, until the crowd elicits their deafening screams, create an epicenter of frenzied commotion—he has complete control; the crowd, the referees, the opposing team, he can control their thoughts, predict their praises: 

_What a nasty serve._

Inarizaki ends up sweeping the match in a two set game. The other team, some highschool from some neighboring district with some poor luck to be matched with Inarizaki for their first game in this qualifying tournament, could only manage 18 points in the second set before Atsumu cemented four consecutive service aces onto the scoreboard. It was a swift victory from there.

“'Samu,” Atsumu says while the team is exiting the gym. 

His brother, currently unwrapping a protein bar, looks to him. “What’s up, ‘tsumu?” 

And Atsumu makes a face exclusively reserved for his counterpart. “Don’t _what’s up ‘tsumu_ me. You got sloppy in the latter half of the second set. You do that in the next game and I’ll purposely serve a ball into your head.” 

Osamu clicks his tongue, though it falls a little flat due to the protein bar filling one of his cheeks. “How many times do I have to remind you that that nasty attitude of yours is tiring. And we were winning with more than a 5 point lead, so what if my _fake_ runups weren’t as convincing?” 

Atsumu’s click cuts sharp. 

“How many times do _I_ have to tell _you_ that a leading score, regardless of the severity of the point gap, doesn’t give you permission to slack off, you ass.” 

“Maybe _you_ should pull that stick out of your _ass_ , and let it go! You _know_ I didn’t sleep well last night. And you _know_ I hate running up for fakes when you have no plan on using me.” 

“You went to bed _one_ hour later than usual! And your _lazy_ , trash performance is gonna cost us an important game one of these days!” 

“Huh?! I didn’t know I was the only one on the court who’s performance mattered!” Osamu takes a step closer to his brother and contemplates shoving his half-eaten bar into Atsumu’s stupid, disgusting mouth. 

Kita intervenes before he can. 

“Atsumu, Osamu, if you two don’t end this conversation you’re both on the bench for the entirety of the next game,” the captain says effectively killing their momentum. 

Neither of the brothers gives a verbal affirmative to their captain’s orders, but Osamu regains his distance from Atsumu who now stands in a slouch of indifference. 

Using his newly acquired soapbox, Kita addresses the rest of the team who are loosely floating about the hallway “Speaking of the next game, everyone should prepare to do as we always do. Make sure to rest up and resolve. Remember our banner, we do not need memories. I expect that you all gorge your hunger for victory in the present and play your best game. Tides turn quickly, do not get comfortable with the scoreboard.” 

Kita shoots him a look and Osamu sighs. 

He turns his attention over to Atsumu, his brother who has a wretched complex and who served four aces in the second set. Thinks, _when did he acquire this insatiable need for victory?_

Atsumu’s gaze locks onto Osamu and he flips him off when the captain’s attention is trained on the opposite side of the haphazard semicircle the team has formed. 

Osamu frowns, answers his own question, _probably ever since he learned that I came out of the womb first._

He returns the gesture. 

-

He’s at a volleyball workshop, sitting next to Osamu when Atsumu becomes aware of the gaping hole in the pit of his stomach.

It takes a random setter who tosses him a ball that’s slammed into the ground by Atsumu’s hand to change his idea of what’s cool—to spark a hunger.

He joins his brother in line and gushes, “‘Samu, I was able to spike that really well!”

Osamu hums, “it felt like my hand made full contact with the ball.” 

“Exactly! Oh man, I feel like a V League player! I’ve never spiked a set like that before.” Atsumu peaks to see how many kids are in front of him, counting how many until he gets to spike again. 

“You’d be the crappiest League player in the world,” his brother retorts as the line shuffles forward. 

Atsumu fights the urge to kick Osamu in the leg. He doesn’t want to risk getting in trouble and being sent home. 

“Whatever, as if _you’d_ make a decent League player. Your receives suck! Remember that time your crappy receive flew into the road and almost made a guy crash his car?” 

“So do yours! And I only messed up that receive because your serve was horrible. The ball didn’t even hit your palm, it hit like, your wrist!” 

“Even if my serve _was_ good, you’d still wouldn’t ha—oh, ‘samu, you’re up.”

Osamu makes one last face at Atsumu before focusing his attention on the coach. 

He takes his turn and Atsumu gets quiet, focuses on the coach who lofts the ball up high for his brother to hit. 

Focuses on the ball which settles politely into the spiker’s hand. 

Hears the ball hit the floor, a definite slam punctuating the air.

It's finally his turn again. 

He looks toward the coach before he starts, a silent question: _you’ll set to me, right? You’ll let me hit this?_

“Alright, you ready?” He asks Atsumu. “I’ll let you spike a nice one, so just do your usual runup.” 

And he does without a second consideration. He launches himself off the ground and the ball meets him in the air, settles in his hand like a promise fulfilled. 

Slams into the ground; a pang of hunger. 

At lunch, he eats everything in the bento his mom made for him and finishes what’s left of Osamu’s. 

Later, he tells his parents all about his new coveted position. 

Later, Osamu is made to apologize when he quips that, “‘tsumu could never be a setter, that position’s only given to the best players.” 

Later, they make up and play video games. 

Later, the hunger still lingers. 

-

He’s at a volleyball training camp when he meets Kageyama Tobio, Sakusa Kiyoomi, Hoshiumi Kourai, and a select infantry of other strong players that reaffirm what he’s known since he was ten: setter is best. 

They’re split up into random groups to play six on six, the usual deal. 

But the coach gathers them before they break off.

“I encourage you all to play a position you usually don’t, find a comfortable lineup, and then change it, get comfortable again and then switch it up! Take this camp as an opportunity to expand your horizons, learn from each other and challenge each other to rise to the occasion.” 

And Atsumu laughs to himself, he won’t be challenging others to rise to his level, he’ll demand that they do. And they will and will want to. Because what spiker would turn their back to a setter who sets like a dream. 

His team consists of Itachiyama’s Sakusa and Kamomedai’s Hoshiumi, he’s never talked to them before today, but he’s seen the both of them play at nationals in his first year of high school. 

Karasuno’s Kageyama is also on his team. Atsumu doesn’t recall anything special about the school, doesn’t even know if they ever were special. And except for his position, Kageyama is a mystery to him. 

“You can be setter for the first set,” he tells Kageyama as they figure out their positions. “I’ll take back left this time.” 

The spiker politely agrees and Atsumu smiles. 

They play a total of eight games that day and by the third game, Atsumu has Kageyama all figured out. He’s a good boy with nasty skills and Atsumu can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the fellow spiker's demeanor. 

Unlike Atsumu, Kageyama talks to his spikers, makes sure he isn’t setting too high or too low, if he needs to set faster. It’s quite considerate and not what Atsumu would have expected after hitting one of Kageyama’s sets himself. 

It’s the third game and Atsumu smashes a sharp cross after which the setter approaches him and asks if the set was ok. 

He smiles, “it was perfect, keep ‘em like that if you can.” And Kageyama does, each time with pinpoint precision. 

_What a good boy._

Games go by, positions change, and it’s during their fifth game that Atsumu gifts Kageyama with a set so nice that a grin appears on his face. 

_Let’s pull him higher,_ he thinks. And he does. The next time he sets to Kageyama, the ball flies well above the antenna before being smacked down with ferocious ease. 

He doesn’t ask Kageyama if the set was ok. The results speak for themselves. 

The week mirrors the first day, warmups, drills, practice games. Teams change and so do players. Kageyama is still polite and Atsumu pulls his spikers higher and faster. It’s not every day that he gets to control so many high school titans at once and he’s determined to lead his horde to victory. 

It’s the last day when Atsumu decides to rock the boat. Why? He’s not sure. Osamu would probably blame his “nasty” attitude, but he likes to think of it as, “challenging players to rise to the occasion.”

He approaches Karasuno’s setter during cooldown stretches.

“Kageyama, how did you like your time as a spiker? You were hitting balls left and right this week.” 

Kageyama turns to face him and Atsumu squats down closer to the setter so he doesn’t have to look up. 

“I had fun, I don’t usually get to spike with my regular team, so it was nice. Also, your sets are really easy to hit, which was nice too” 

Atsumu hums a smile, “right? only a total scrub would whiff my sets.” There’s a small reaction from Kageyama but Atsumu wants more, “so, would you ever consider changing positions?"

The setter freezes, eyes wide. “Why would I do that?” 

“Well, compared to when you were setting, you had such an exciting expression spiking. You look almost constipated when you set,” Atsumu laughs, “so serious.” 

Kageyama frowns and answers what any good boy would answer. 

“But I’m a setter.” 

And Atsumu sighs, “I figured you’d say that.” He makes to leave, but not before giving one final push. “Ya know, at first you seemed like a pretty prickly guy and I wasn’t sure if you were gonna play well with others on the first day, but once you step onto the court, you turn into an awfully sweet goody-two-shoes of a setter.” 

“What? What’s that supposed to mean?” The stern confusion in Kageyama’s voice is almost enough to make Atsumu feel a little guilty.

Almost. 

“It means what it means,” he supplies while walking away. “If you figure it out by the time nationals rolls around, let me know.” 

-

“You know the other guys don’t like you, right Atsumu?” 

Atsumu looks up from his food to stare blankly at Aran. 

“So,” he says with a mouth full of rice, “I don’t care if they don’t like me, this is a training camp. I only care that they hit my sets.” 

Aran frowns, but Atsumu returns to his food and doesn’t see it. 

“This isn’t the V League you know, it’s junior high volleyball, people are allowed to make mistakes.” 

“I told you, I don’t care. I set the ball so they can spike it. If they miss then they’re trash. And stop talking to me like you’re an adult, you’re only a year older than me.” Bits of rice slip from Atsumu’s mouth as he says this.

Aran sighs again. He passes Atsumu a napkin.

“You hit my sets though, so don’t worry about the others. The only ones that matter are those who meet my sets. And you’re one of them, so it shouldn’t matter.” 

Atsumu returns to his food once more and Aran accepts that he isn’t going to get through to his teammate anytime soon, and has a hunch that he probably never will. 

He sighs. 

-

Inarizaki loses to Karasuno in their first match of nationals and the bus to the inn is quiet. 

Osamu peeks a glance at his brother, sees his twin’s reflection in the window, the night sky making the tension between his knitted brows more noticeable, and Osamu knows Atsumu’s not really looking out the window. If his brother were a different person, a little less intense, a little less moody, a little less desperate, then maybe Osamu could believe that his brother is contemplating how the street signs in Tokyo are different from the street signs in Hyogo.

But an Atsumu who is less intense, less desperate, well, that’s just Osamu, and he isn’t the one staring out the window with the match against Karasuno tumbling through his brain; picking apart each serve, each bump, set, spike, each and every motion, meticulously reviewing who hit what, who ran where, how they lost, how Karasuno won, where they went wrong—where he went wrong.

“Look’s like Tobio figured it out,” Atsumu had said after the Karasuno duo scored a point with their infamous quick set. Osamu had asked what his brother meant, but in typical Atsumu fashion, he waved him off smugly and got ready for the next rally. 

Osamu flicks his gaze lower, sees how his brother’s hands hold themselves neatly in his lap. 

_How annoying_ , he thinks. 

Atsumu likes to lie, is good at it too, but seeing his hands there, fingers tightly laced together, is an annoying reminder of how honest his brother is in the silence of defeat. 

To his brother, the act is a reminder to himself that it’s not over, that he still has his arms, his hands, each of his ten fingers. That he can still set. That he can still support his spikers. His team. He holds them to remind himself why he’s a setter. That victory is still out there. 

Osamu turns his attention back to his phone. Scrolls through his feed, #VBNationalsD2 is trending. 

He puts his phone away. 

“Maybe we played around too much,” he told his brother immediately after the match. 

But thinking about it now, in the quiet of the bus, his brother’s stare burning a hole into the bus’ window, maybe “play around” was the wrong way to phrase it.

Atsumu never “plays around” when it comes to volleyball. He takes the game more seriously than anything. Even when they were seven and still sucked his brother was a hardass. 

Now that they’re more skilled, they have their fun, pull moves off on the fly because they have the freedom to do so. But even when a move is pulled off by the seat of their pants, each set his brother sends is done so with careful consideration. 

Each ball that leaves his hands is sent into the air like a confession— _this is all I can offer, let it be enough_.

His brother has a way of making his spikers feel untouchable. 

And it’s obvious to anyone that puts up with his attitude long enough to play with him: to spike one of Miya Atsumu’s sets is to know how it is to be loved by him. 

-

Hinata Shouyou was never expected to show up to Black Jackal tryouts, but he does and it sparks something in Atsumu that’s slept dormant for all these years. Reminds him of a declaration he once made in the bitter light of defeat, exhaustion making each word slip heavy off his tongue—”I’ll toss to you one of these days."

It takes everything he can and more to not run down from the second floor overlook and crash tryouts, everything to keep him from bounding down and setting a ball nice and high for Hinata to hit, subsequently decimating the competition and ensuring his spot on the Jackals. 

And despite every cell in his body telling him to, not crashing tryouts works out in his favor as from above he’s able to see just how far Hinata had progressed in his years following high school. 

“Damn, he’s a beast,” Bokuto says, joining Atsumu where he stands leaning over the railing. “I remember when he still sucked at a lot of things.” 

They watch Hinata spike the ball into the blockers, intentionally causing the ball to rebound off the block and fly out of bounds, earning his team a point. 

Bokuto slams his hand against Atsumu’s back, screams, “hey, hey, hey, I taught him that! I taught him how to tip off the block! Oh man, I've missed him, I want to go play with him and against him!” 

Atsumu laughs and peers at the player down below. He shares Bokuto’s sentiments about wanting to play with Hinata. He’s wanted to since he was a second year, bitterly defeated in his first match of nationals. 

There should be a day in these tryouts where the team and the hopefuls share the court, then Hinata is all his, he’ll make sure of it.

“Dude, what’s got you smiling?” 

“Beats me,” he says, letting the corners of his mouth fall flat. His eyes stay trained on the court below. 

Two days later, Atsumu finally gets his chance to set to Hinata. He rushes to the spiker’s side when the coach calls free practice, a time for those trying out and the current players to get acquainted, for the coach to see where chemistry and playstyle agree. 

Hinata kills ball after ball and it's obvious by the third spike that he and Atsumu were made to stand on the same court, they make it a habit to high five after each successful play as if they’ve been teammates for years. It’s not an official match, not even practice, but the heat of Hinata’s hands and the sweat on his brow, his intensity, it makes Atsumu feel like he’s standing under the searing lights of the Metropolitan Gymnasium. 

The day ends and Hinata and Bokuto catch up. They act like they're still in high school. Atsumu and Hinata didn’t really know each other in high school, but when Hinata bounds up to him, Bokuto in tow, asking about the team and what he’s been doing, Atsumu’s glad to see that the player isn't hesitant around him when they're off the court. 

Two days later, tryouts end and Bokuto takes Hinata out to celebrate. 

When Bokuto finds Hinata in the locker room, he loudly exclaims, “Hinata, Hinata, I mentioned you to Akaashi and he was wondering how you were. He should be off work in an hour, we should all go out. We can celebrate you surviving tryouts and drink to good results!” 

And Hinata beams, “Sure! Can we invite Atsumu?” 

They tag team Atsumu as he’s getting out of the shower, Bokuto traps his neck in the crook of his elbow as Hinata pulls at his hand telling him to, “hurry up.” 

He holds onto the towel around his waist for dear life.

No hesitancy. 

-

Over drinks, Atsumu gets to know more about high school Hinata as Bokuto and Akaashi spill story after story about a boy who seemingly never tired. Atsumu listens more than he speaks but when prompted, he tells the three about his time at Inarizaki, recalls the first time he played against Hinata and how he met Kageyama prior to the match. 

This spurs on more memories, Hinata’s first time playing against Kageyama, Akaashi’s trepidations about becoming Fukurodani’s vice captain as a second year, how Bokuto and Nekoma’s former captain, Kuroo, went from bitter rivals to great friends. 

The beer is cold and the food is salty and they laugh at their former selves, at each other; memories flow like the beer and they speak of their youth like it’s something precious and distant—it hasn’t even been 10 years. 

Hinata tells them a little about Rio too, about how the sand was his worst enemy and his greatest ally, that it broke him down only to rebuild his skills with greater assurance of his strength and speed. He mentions some names here and there, mentions how he found Oikawa, or how Oikawa found him, how they met either by fate or by chance.

“He was a nice reminder of home,” Hinata says. 

Atsumu wants to ask if he was nervous to be in a new country alone. How long it took him to adjust, if the time difference made it difficult, or maybe the change in altitude. He wants to ask if he felt lonely. If he ever thought about coming back earlier. Why he came back now. Why he left in the first place.

He doesn’t. 

They leave the bar sometime in the early morning hours. Bokuto and Akaashi go their separate ways but not before promising Hinata that they’ll do this again when he’s accepted onto the Black Jackals. 

Hinata thanks them both. 

And then Atsumu and Hinata make their own trek back home. He considers hailing a cab, but it’s a nice night and walking means more time with Hinata, a night stroll and preemptive teammate bonding never hurt anyone.

Fortunately, Atsumu’s apartment isn’t too far and the apartment Hinata’s crashing at, owned by some friend from junior high, is in the same direction. 

They walk in silence until Hinata mentions something about warm summer nights in Brazil and the drunken games of night volleyball he and his roommate used to play. 

“That sounds fun,” Atsumu says, considering where they could go to do that, where the closest body of water is. 

Hinata hums in agreement. “It was until someone spikes the ball off course and into the water. Swimming drunk is hard.” 

Atsumu laughs, throws his head back as he imagines an intoxicated Hinata wading into the ocean to retrieve a drunkenly spiked ball.

“You totally could’ve drowned.” He says as he comes down from his high. He tries to scold his tone, “don’t swim drunk, Shouyou.” 

“It was fun though. I had fun.” 

Atsumu hums and a comfortable silence falls around them. 

Hinata’s friend's place is only a few streets down from his, Atsumu walks him to the front of the complex. 

“Have you seen Kageyama yet?” Atsumu asks before Hinata leaves. He’s genuinely curious, having thought about the setter and his and Hinata’s high school partnership over drinks. 

“Not yet.” Hinata rubs at the back of his neck. “He knows I’m in town, but I can’t see him yet. When I make a team I can, I will. But not now. Not yet.” 

Atsumu understands, says, “you’ll be seeing him soon then.” 

And Hinata beams as he promises to call him when decisions come out. 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

Two days later, Atsumu gets a call from Hinata. 

-

Hinata seamlessly joins the Black Jackals, and aside from his personality that has the team warming up to him in no time, his ability to play both offensive and defensive positions along with his heightened game sense has both the coach and the other players considering how to integrate him into existing line ups. 

As with the other newbies, Hinata spends most of the official matches on the bench, being subbed in at the coach’s discretion. Practice matches are different though, there, the coach experiments with different starters, calculates the growth of his team with the recent additions. However, official or not, the one thing that doesn’t change is the vibrancy with which Hinata spikes Atsumu’s sets. 

Sometimes Atsumu selfishly questions why it took so long for him and Hinata to finally connect on the same side of the net. But then he catches Hinata doing something weird, a little off in terms of volleyball, like hitting a feint with his knuckles or smacking the ball between his palms rather than on the floor before a serve, and he’s reminded of the journey the spiker went through to end up here, that Hinata traveled the globe before crash landing into tryouts. And then he sees Hinata’s smile directed to him after the ball lands, when another point is added to their score, and he thinks that waiting is ok, would even wait again, wait longer, if he knew that one day a new, lovely, voracious player would join his arsenal and that that player would be none other than a coveted spiker from his high school days. 

“Shouyou, you’re gonna hit my sets today, right?” Atsumu asks Hinata one day as he enters the locker room and sees the other player situating his belongings. 

Hinata responds without a second thought, a smile evident on his face and in his voice. “Of course! But only if you set to me, which you will, right?” 

Atsumu joins his teammate at the lockers. 

“Of course.” 

It becomes a thing between them, a quip before practice, an affirmation before a match, and in either scenario, the truth. 

The team also has a thing, at the end of each month they get together for a drink and after each winning match, a party.

It’s Atsumu’s turn to host. The order goes off jersey number starting from 1. As per the rules set by former Jackal players, the host supplies the food while everyone else brings alcohol of their choice. 

He’s setting out the food he bought for the occasion when he hears a knock on the door, and when he opens it, Sakusa’s standing there holding a bag. 

“Omi-Omi, glad could make it,” Atsumu says with dramatic cheeriness because he knows it annoys his teammate. 

Sakusa’s eyes squint from above his mask, “just take it,” and he shoves the bag toward Atsumu to grab. 

He does and moves aside so Sakusa can enter. Considering his usual gloominess and partiality to distance himself, both physically and emotionally, from those around him, Sakusa comes to a lot of these meetups, always arriving early to ensure that he can pick out the perfect corner to sulk in as the festivities pick up. 

“So, Sakusa, what’ve you been up to today?” 

“We had practice together,” Sakusa says bluntly. 

Atsumu sighs, “I know that Omi, but after practice, what did you do?”

His teammate returns the sigh but responds. “Nothing.” 

“Cool.” 

He drops the attempt at conversation for now. If Sakusa wants to talk, he will. And the silence that follows isn’t heavy, just apparent, the usual bloated silence that follows a failed attempt at pleasantries. 

It’s broken after a moment. 

“Recently, you’ve seemed more excitable in practice,” Sakusa says unprompted. Atsumu looks up from his phone he resigned himself to after Sakusa dodged his first question. 

“Uh, ya. Maybe? I haven’t really noticed.” 

His teammate crosses his arms over his chest and gives Atsumu a look that screams, _you liar_. 

Atsumu just grumbles. 

“You can believe me or not, but ever since Hinata joined the team you’ve been different, like you’re back in high school again. Not that you’ve ever _not_ been an annoying player, but since his addition, your plays have been more dangerous, maybe even a little impulsive.” 

There’s a knock on the door. 

“Does that make you angry? That I’ve become impulsive?” Atsumu asks, pocketing his phone and making his way to the entrance. 

“You’d be boring if you weren’t.” 

Atsumu smiles. 

The door swings open and Bokuto’s signature, “hey, hey, hey,” rings through the hall and Atsumu’s apartment and probably the whole complex. 

Tagging along with Bokuto are Hinata and Inunaki and a couple of the latest recruits. 

“Come on in guys, Omi was just talking about how much he enjoys watching me play.” 

He hears Sakusa vehemently deny his statement before Bokuto whines, “no fair,” and begs Sakusa to say something nice about him. 

Atsumu laughs as he takes the drinks to the kitchen, hears the pat of feet following him and Hinata call his name from behind.

“Barnes told me to tell you that he can’t make it. He’s gonna get his shoulder checked out.” 

He nods and places a bottle of clear liquid on the counter, turns, “that’s good. Better to get it checked earlier than later. Thanks.” 

Hinata smiles at him, like he always does. 

“What about you?” Atsumu asks. “How are you feeling?” 

His teammate rolls both his shoulders and does a couple of squats for show before saying, “I’m good, I feel good. Why?” 

“Just checking, would be a shame if you couldn’t hit my sets.” 

“Hah, as if an injury would keep me from hitting those. Plus, you'd still set the ball to me even if I could only get two feet off the ground.” 

Hinata says this with such surety that he has to laugh again because he probably would. 

“I know,” Atsumu says as he walks past Hinata and drags him out into the living room. “Let’s join the others.” 

Slowly, the rest of the members arrive. Meian drags along some of the newer players who were too hesitant to join on their own and Thomas joins after everyone’s a drink in and arguing over who has the nastiest serve in the League. 

“There’s no way, Ushijima’s serve is _way_ nastier than Kageyama’s, but still easier than Sakusa’s!” Bokuto screams at Inunaki who’s just shaking his head. 

And the libero defends his position, speaking to both Bokuto and the newest libero of the ranks. 

“Wrong, once you get Sakusa’s spin under control, it’s a pretty easy serve to bump. Ushijima’s serve is too strong, literally blows you and the ball away, you need to make sure you have a good first step and strong base.” 

The newer member shakes his head, hanging onto every word of Inunaki’s. Bokuto just pouts and slams back his drink.

“I think Hoshiumi’s serve is pretty strong,” Hinata pipes up from his position on the floor where he’s been slowly finishing off a bag of prawn chips with Atsumu’s help. 

Meian nods, “ya, it’s strong and comes from a high position, only because he can jump like it’s nothing. But I think that guy from the Green Rockets, Goshiki, might have a stronger swing.” 

Hinata jumps on the chance to praise his former high school opponent and training camp partner. “Oh ya, Goshiki’s always been strong! His straights are crazy!” 

A mumble of agreeance rounds the room. 

“How about me, where do you rank my serves?” Atsumu asks once everyone’s done considering a time when Goshiki’s straight cost them a point, sipping his drink like he isn’t emotionally invested in the answer. 

Inunaki delivers the first blow. 

“They’re strong, but the harder you hit, the worse your accuracy tends to be.” 

Sakusa butts in as well. 

“Your serves are really easy to score on because you don’t even have to receive them to earn the point, they find their way out of bounds by themselves.” 

The rest of the team laughs at this, Atsumu flips him off. 

“Shut up, Omi Omi. Who asked for your opinion?”

“The Green Rockets’ Kiryu probably has the most power behind his serve, might even be equal to that of Ushijima. He’s accurate too.” Thomas adds and Sakusa sends a finger to Atsumu on his behalf. 

“You can’t pout, you literally asked,” Sakusa says after Atsumu downs his drink and reaches for another. 

“I thought you would all be nicer to your setter, have fun spiking without my sets.” 

Hinata laughs behind his drink. “I think your serves are strong. Maybe almost as strong as Kageyama’s. I remember in high school, you almost killed us by scoring like, three points in a row just by serving, it totally wasn’t cool!” 

Atsumu ruffles Hinata’s hair and exclaims that he’s the only one who gets sets from now on. 

“The rest of you can starve!” 

-

“Whoa, Shouyou, how’d you jump so high on the sand? It looks like it’s suckin’ you in.” Atsumu asks as they huddle over Hinata’s phone. The two of them are sitting on the floor at the foot of his bed. 

It’s currently two in the morning, Sakusa and Meian left two hours ago along with some of the other members. Bokuto is passed out on the couch with Inunaki and Thomas is splayed out on the floor. 

“There’s a special way you have to jump,” Hinata whispers, trying hard not to wake the others. “You gotta like, _schlump_ and then you jump up high like _whah!_ ” 

And Atsumu nods his head like he understands Hinata’s sounds. 

“And then for receiving, you gotta take a faster first step because of the sand.” 

“What about setting, how is that different?” Atsumu asks, genuinely curious. 

“Wind is the biggest factor,” Hinata says after a moment, “depending on the direction and speed, the setter has to adjust for drift.” 

“Does the same go for serving and spiking?” 

“Mmm, sort of, but not as much as it does for setting. Serving more so than spiking, but setting the most of all because if the spiker is one place and if the wind decides to take the ball off course or to another place entirely, then it’s hard to recover that play.” 

“Shouyou, you know so much, it’s really, truly impressive,” Atsumu says, putting as much honesty as he can behind his voice. Because it's true. 

Hinata sighs and lets his legs stretch out in front of him. “Ya, I learned a lot from a lot of amazing people. I didn’t have any other choice. I had to learn everything if I was gonna make the League, if I’m going to beat Kageyama.”

Atsumu takes this time to look at Hinata, his strong form sitting slack against the bed frame, toned arms and calloused hands, his strong thighs. He looks at the soft curls that fall on his forehead and brush against his brow bone, his eyes which always shine so brightly, even now in the dim light of his room. 

“You know, ever since I’ve known you, even back in high school, you’ve always had this insatiable hunger. I could feel it even from the opposite side of the court. And even now I feel it as you talk about Kageyama, about beating him. It’s like you want that more than anything.” 

“Ha, ya. I’ve always been greedy,” Hinata looks down at his hands, rubs at the rough patches, “I’ve always wanted to be strong because that’s the only way you can play freely. But also, part of me has always been searching for assurance that I belong on the court. In high school, I relied a lot on my teammates, especially as a first year and especially on Kageyama. So in a way, I want to beat him with my own abilities, so I can finally look him in the eye and say, _I’m the last one on this court, I win._ ” 

It’s two in the morning, the time of the night where everyone feels a little braver, and maybe it’s the alcohol and maybe it’s the boy next to him, and Atsumu may not be sure why his chest feels the way it does, like his heart found it's way into his lungs, up his throat, the tip of his tongue, on the plush of his lips, but he’s confident when he considers that Hinata Shouyou is probably the only person in this whole world who truly deserves to stand on the court. 

So Atsumu says, “you’re amazing Shouyou, you shine on the court. We’ve been playing together for five months now but I don’t think I could go back to before. Knowing that you’ll be there, that greediness, it makes me crazy, makes me want to set to you over and over just to see what you’ll do.” 

He allows himself to place a hand next to Hinata’s, compares the two of them, both of them rough and battered; a passionate player never has nice hands. “Ever since I played against you that one time in high school, I think I’ve always known that you’d always be there, even if it took seven years for us to meet on the same side.” 

First a pinky, then the ring finger, and Atsumu feels Hinata lace their fingers together, palms flush to one another. Feels a squeeze of his hand, “we can be greedy together, impulsive and free, we can be happy on the court because we deserve it. We’re young and we love this sport and I think we deserve to feel this, to feel untouchable.” 

It’s two in the morning, the time when simple confessions sit on the precipice of truth and Atsumu feels free. 

Feels hungry. 

-

“Hinata!” The coach bellows from above where he stands on the second story landing overlooking the court, motions for him to come up. 

Atsumu watches him as he bounds up the stairs only to descend them a moment later. 

When Hinata steps back on the court Atsumu can tell it was good news and when Hinata spikes one of his sets Atsumu can tell it's the news Hinata has been waiting for since his first junior high volleyball match: another chance to play Kageyama. 

The gym soon becomes a monster’s den, Hinata’s contagious, ravenous energy fills the room and infects the other players. That practice, no one can bump Sakusa’s serve and Bokuto’s cross is so sharp it could cut you. 

Atsumu also feels the effects of Hinata. The pressure to perform is heightened with each kill, each receive. He pulls his spikers higher, faster, polishes them to shine, preps them for battle. 

As he serves, accuracy and power are on his side. He makes six aces that practice. 

Once practice ends, the frenzy dies down in the locker room as the steam of the showers and promise of food lull the players into a calmer state. 

And when Atsumu notices that Hinata didn’t even once try to turn Bokuto’s shower cold while the other was washing his hair, he assumes that he too has been sedated by the hard practice and hot water, but then Atsumu sees Hinata as he’s getting dressed for the walk home, sees how he stalls as he opens his locker, and knows something is up. 

“you ok? You didn’t hurt yourself during practice did you?” 

No one else is in the room with them, Hinata usually takes a little longer to get ready, likes to use this time to unwind before heading home. But today, Hinata stands in a state of half undress, shirt hanging from his hands as he thinks something over and over and over. Atsumu can practically hear the gears turning in his head. 

He pushes off the wall where he was standing closest to the door and walks closer to Hinata. He doesn’t bother taking a look in the locker to know what he's currently fixated on, Atsumu already knows. The picture of Hinata’s old team, Kageyama included, is taped up on the back wall of his teammate's locker, he's seen it on multiple occasions. 

“Shouyou, are you ok?” 

Hinata peels his gaze away from the photo and looks toward Atsumu as he leans against the row of compartments. “Ya, I’m fine. Just tired.” He laughs a little as to dismiss the question.

But Atsumu doesn't let him. 

“You have to at least be cold, you’ve been standing here without a shirt for ten minutes.” 

Hinata starts, smiles sheepishly as he moves to put his shirt on. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you wait that long. I’ve just been thinking. You could’ve left.” 

Atsumu shakes his head, “I don’t mind. And thinking? What about?” 

Hinata sighs, “just the match and Kageyama, and how I’m replacing Barnes as a starter,” there’s a pause as he closes the locker door, a metallic click, followed by, “I’m so happy, but nervous too, or maybe not nervous but anxious, excited? I’m not sure. I’m not sure how to feel.” 

Atsumu doesn’t speak for a while, lets the words settle in the air, settle in Hinata as he himself tries to understand his emotions. The shaded set of windows let light in through staggered gaps and Atsumu can peek at the setting sun and it’s rich orange hue that reminds him so much of Hinata’s hair. He thinks back to the night in his room, when they shared a space on the floor at the end of his bed, hovered over a single phone. Remembers what he said, what Hinata said, how they ended falling asleep on the floor because neither of them was awake enough to move to the bed. 

He remembers how Hinata’s hand felt in his, how strong it was.

“I’m glad to know that even you get nervous.” Atsumu laughs, not meanly, just a quiet huff as he recalls the months of playing together. “Sometimes you bound onto the court with such confidence that I’m afraid you’ll burn up the whole arena. Not that that’s a bad thing, you need to be confident, you have the skills to be confident, but a little anxiety here and there isn’t bad. It just means you care about something, that you’ll fight the hardest to win.” 

Hinata smiles wide at this, exclaims, “there’s no way I’m letting Kageyama win! I’m going to prove to him and the whole world that I deserve to stand on the court!” 

He goes quiet again, “and you’ll set to me?” 

Atsumu doesn’t roll his eyes like Hinata just asked if the earth was round or the sky blue. He knows that the question was asked in earnest because Hinata has never been anything but earnest, in words and actions. 

“Of course. I’ll make sure you say a proper hello.” 

And he does. 

In his periphery he sees Kageyama nearly blast Hinata away with his serve, the setters own form of greeting, but he doesn’t dwell on it, can’t dwell on it, because he knows Hinata will be off the ground and in the air in seconds. 

And he is. 

Atsumu sets the ball high in the air, so high that it gets lost in the gymnasium lights before Hinata deftly slams it down. There’s a second of silence before the audience erupts into a cacophony of cheers and screams and exaltations of amazement. 

Hinata’s hands are on his as the whistle blows.

“Shouyou, nice kill!” 

After the first rally, Atsumu can feel the energy rising, knows how hungry his team is, how they’re dying to get their hands on the ball. Knows that the same can be said about the opposition. 

It’s his turn to serve. He stands six steps back from the court and raises a fist, the audience silences on command. Even when the whole arena is frenzied, he can still control the masses, that fact feeds something in him and he takes a moment to relish in the quiet. He takes a look at his court of monsters and hears the whistle blow, _let’s see how nasty we can be today_. 

He takes his first step. 

-

Everyone is gathered at Bokuto and Akaashi's apartment celebrating the Jackal's win against the Alders. They played five sets and the match ended 3-2, it was anyone’s game at the end of the fifth. 

Atsumu is standing in the kitchen with Hinata when Kageyama enters the scene. Though some of the other former Karasuno players are floating around, having been invited by Hinata after the game, something about seeing Hinata and Kageyama together after all these years makes him want to give the two privacy to adjust, find the space which was once just theirs. 

So he goes, leaves the kitchen with a touch to Hinata’s waist, a brief affirmation that he’ll be around, to find him whenever. 

He enters the living room and sees Meian chatting with Barnes on one side of the couch as Bokuto and Daichi occupy the other. 

Sakusa in the corner, as expected, except Inunaki is with him at a respectable distance. 

Some other people wander here and there, he sees some other former Karasuno players, Tsukishima is talking with Thomas, if Atsumu recalls correctly, the blonde is a middle blocker for a division two team. 

His brother is talking with Akaashi and Sugawara. He joins them. 

“Akaashi, Sugawara, how is everything?” Atsusmu asks as he walks up to the trio. 

Sugawara claps him on the back, “nice setting today, man, Hinata’s grown up so much! Oh man, I’m so proud of him, and Kageyama, they were so young when I played with them. I think I’m going to cry. You really bring out Hinata’s power, doesn’t he Akaashi?” 

Akaashi just nods and takes the cup from Sugawara’s hand as Atsumu smiles awkwardly in response. He hasn’t had much interaction with Karasuno’s former vice captain so the casualty is surprising, but not unwelcome. 

They talk easily from there, ice broken from the get go. They talk about jobs and life, the series Akaashi is working on currently and one of Sugawara’s students who happens to adore the series. 

Soon though, Akaashi gets signalled by Bokuto to join him in which Sugawara joins because Daichi is also over there, leaving him and Osamu alone.

“Samu, how’d you do today?” Atsumu asks knowing his brother was a vendor at today’s game. 

“Pretty good, sold basically all the stock I brought.” 

“Ah, that’s good to hear. Mom’s recipe was always favored in the neighborhood. Man, I miss mom’s food.” 

Osamu huffs, “you should come to the store more often. And home. Mom’ll make you all the food you want.” 

It’s Atsumu’s turn to huff. “I know, I’m just busy. I’ll try to visit more often. Do you have any stock leftover from today you want to give me though?” His tone turns sweet by his last sentence. 

“No. If Akaashi wasn’t present then maybe, but he was a big contributor to my sales today. Man can eat.” 

Atsumu laughs at his brother's response and Osamu laughs at his brother. 

There was a time when they didn’t speak to each other, laugh together, but now, a comfortable lull falls over them as they both stand in the presence of each other like they have done since the beginning. 

His brother quit volleyball at the same time they graduated high school. Though the news of Osamu’s decision came when they were second years. 

Atsumu doesn’t really remember what exactly sparked the topic, but it was after losing a game. They argued about success and happiness, turned these ambiguous concepts into a brotherly competition fueled by anger and fear. 

They had always stood together—

“So, are you happy?” 

“I’m not dead yet, you can’t ask me that.” 

“And I’m not 80, but you can still answer.” 

“Then ya, I guess I am happy.” 

“Good. Me too.” 

—they still stand together. 

Osamu leaves about half an hour later explaining that he needs to do some prep work for tomorrow. 

“Stop by if you ever get hungry, you don’t get a discount though. And visit mom more often.”

Atsumu makes a face only reserved for his brother, “you’re such an ass. But ok.” 

He follows his brother to the door but stops when he sees Hinata and Kageyama talking at the entrance, Kageyama’s pulling on his jacket. They hug and Hinata lingers, holds onto Kageyama just a little longer than what convention dictates. 

He pulls away and Kageyama rustles his hair. There’s familiarity in how Kageyama’s fingers thread through his locks, history in the way Hinata swats him off. 

Then Kageyama’s gone. Hinata closes the door behind him. 

Atsumu's right there waiting for Hinata when he turns around. 

"Want to go out on the balcony?" 

-

It’s a cool summer night and they stand in silence as they let the noise of the party fade to a dull hum behind them, let the sound of distant cars ground them, settle their thoughts. 

They nurse their drinks, some kind of highball for Hinata and Atsumu’s beer, both in red plastic cups because they're still young enough to enjoy the novelty of the appearance, but old enough to actually appreciate the taste of alcohol. 

“You’ll see him again. Off the court and on, so don’t let it make you too sad.” Atsumu says after some time. 

Hinata grumbles some noise that is half sigh, half groan. “I know, it’s silly, I’ll always have Kageyama as a rival and definitely a friend, but I don’t know, I know this isn’t the last time I’ll see him, but it feels like it is, it feels like a conclusion.” 

"A conclusion?"

"I don't know. Like.” 

Atsumu watches Hinata take another sip of his drink, watches as his hair slips in front of his eyes as he tilts his head ever so slightly and how he shakes it out of his way. Watches his lips purse together as he struggles to find the right words. 

He speaks a moment later and Atsumu stops watching, listens. 

“I'm so happy to be here after all these years and all this work, but I don't know. I guess I can't believe I’m here, that I’m part of a new team, a League team of all things! And I can't believe I finally beat Kageyama, that I've proven myself to him and to this sport. But I can’t help but feel like it’s over.” 

Atsumu hums, “what’s over? 

“High school? Maybe? But also maybe not. Like I said, I don’t know. It’s just a feeling. Ever since high school, I’ve felt like my life has been a race against time. To accomplish what? I’m not even sure. I think it was a messy combination of goals, but finally, after all these years, I’ve reached the culmination and it finally feels like the end of a race that I thought I’d never finish. It’s stupid though. These feelings are stupid because I should be happy that I’ve reached my goal, but I can’t help but feel a little lost. Like now what?" 

“Wow, who knew you could be so eloquent. Have you been hanging out with Akaashi?” 

“You’re such an asshole,” Hinata quips as he uses his elbow to jab Atsumu in the side. The other just laughs and goes to hug him despite his efforts to push Atsumu away. Hinata gives up when Atsumu wraps around him from the back, resting his chin on Hinata’s head. 

Atsumu ruminates up there, let's Hinata's words sink in and mean something. 

"You play volleyball,” Hinata hears from above him. 

"You play volleyball for the Black Jackals, you scream loudly in morning practice with Bokuto, you take too long in the locker room and you use the bathroom right before every match only to run into our opponents. You half annoy, half fluster Sakusa by admiring his skills, you block with Meian and dig with Inunaki, you run faster and jump higher, you spike my sets. And you make memories." 

"Memories." 

“Mhm, you said that this felt like a conclusion, well, now you move on and aspire to something else, something greater even. But that doesn't mean you can't look back on your time with Karasuno and Kageyama. Or in Rio, even. You'll be able to look back on these new memories too when the time comes." 

Hinata sighs, "you can be really honest sometimes,” laughs from under him. “It’s a good thing though. We didn’t really know each other, but you’ve changed since high school. 

Atsumu pushes his chin down where it’s resting on Hinata’s head.

“So have you, from my recollection of all the stories you tell me, you used to be all over the place in high school, you still are, gives the team a collective headache when you and Bokuto decide to compete to see who can bump more of Sakusa’s serves in a single practice." 

Hinata twists in Atsumu’s arms to face the setter, “You’re just mad Sakusa has a nastier serve than you.” 

Atsumu rolls his eyes as to deny the claims voiced and Hinata laughs.

He looks at Hinata, looks at his cheeks flushed from alcohol and thinks of the first time he played against him, how his cheeks were flushed from exertion. He thinks of the first time he lost to him and of the first time he won a match, thinks of when his brother stepped off the court for good and the first time he stepped onto one. Thinks of the first time he felt hungry for something victory couldn’t satiate—of the first time he set to Hinata. 

"Hey, Atsumu?" 

“Hm?” 

"We're so old now. Young, but so old." 

Atsumu sighs and looks out at the kaleidoscope of city lights. 

Since high school, Atsumu’s mellowed out. Slightly. He still plays like it’s life or death. He still has a nasty attitude from time to time. He still treats his spikers like they're something dear. And sometimes the cavernous hunger from his younger days returns. But underneath it all, he’s enjoying himself and his time with his teammates, his time on the court. 

When he was younger, his desperation to be great eclipsed everything. He remembers his time on the court with his brother and Aran and the rest of his Inarizaki teammates, but a great looming pressure envelops them, saturated in his desperation. It’s a pity, but he’s learned. 

Now he allows himself to make memories for the sake of remembering. 

"Ya, we are. So young, but so old. That's ok though, I think. We have time. To play volleyball and make memories. We have time." 

Atsumu looks down at Hinata who catches his gaze. Looks at his teammate who was once his opponent, who was once a stranger, who now holds his eye contact a little longer, let's their hands linger after a high five, who he waits for as he finishes up in the locker room, who he holds close at night and in the morning, who holds him in the same capacity—who Atsumu sets to because he is the embodiment of his pride, because it's his love laid bare. 

"Ya, we have time. Volleyball and memories." 

"You and me." 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for giving this a read, I had a lot of fun writing this fic and I hope you enjoyed reading it.
> 
> As always, comments, kudos, and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!
> 
> Also, here's my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/welpplew) if you want to cry over haikyuu!!


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